


What's a bard's mouth good for, anyway?

by draculard



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Desperate Geralt, Desperation Play, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Public Wetting (sort of), Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24657736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: It wasn't important how they got into this mess. In fact, Geralt would pay good money to make sure Jaskier never committed this particular adventure to song.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 252





	What's a bard's mouth good for, anyway?

It wasn’t important how they got into this mess. In fact, Geralt would pay good money to make sure Jaskier absolutely _never_ committed this particular adventure to song. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unable to move much at all, and tried to look like he was paying attention to the polite — if somewhat drunken — conversation around him.

The high-profile group, made up of nobility and a few high-born knights, paid him little attention. They didn’t notice Geralt’s hands curled into tight fists on the table.

They certainly didn’t notice Jaskier kneeling _underneath_ the table with his mouth around Geralt’s cock.

(In Geralt’s defense, he’d thought they had more time before the other guests arrived.)

He’d been maybe ten seconds away from coming when the queen herself had walked in and Jaskier, damn him, had stopped sucking immediately. The other guests had filed in not long after, filling the seats to Geralt’s left and right. Their legs were uncomfortably close to Jaskier, and the guy on the left — Lord Whatsisbury — kept accidentally kicking Jaskier and then apologizing to the fellow across the way.

There was nowhere for Jaskier to move, no way for him to gracefully bow out of the blowjob.

So for the past hour, they’d simply been stuck. Geralt’s cock was soft but still firmly positioned in Jaskier’s wet, hot mouth, neither of them daring to move. 

He felt Jaskier’s tongue flex against the underside of his cock, making his thighs tense as he let out a slow hiss. None of the party guests seemed to notice. Teeth gritted, Geralt turned to the single coping device available to him over the past hour:

Wine.

Lots of wine.

This was his fifth refill. He did his best to sip it slowly, but it was literally the _only_ thing distracting him from Jaskier’s tongue. The conversation here wasn’t exactly riveting. He shifted his hips a little, biting the inside of his cheek as the over-stimulated tip of his cock brushed the roof of Jaskier’s mouth.

Surreptitiously, unseen by the guests next to him, Geralt slipped one hand beneath the table and found Jaskier’s fingers on his thigh. He rubbed the back of Jaskier’s hand, hoping the wordless apology was clear enough. This situation had to be ten times more uncomfortable for Jaskier than it was for him, after all.

But still, it was almost bearable. Geralt knew he was hiding it well, and it wouldn’t be long before the party guests were drunk enough that he could theoretically slip Jaskier out from underneath the table. Perhaps in time he could simply crawl out and up, into one of the few empty chairs, and pretend he’d been there the whole time.

But that was another two hours away at least, Geralt suspected.

And, well, he had to piss.

He had to piss _so_ _bad._

Jaskier’s mouth wasn’t helping. Having his cock in that warm, wet hole was just as bad as having someone put his hand in a cup of warm water while he was sleeping. It was sending ‘just relax’ signals straight to his bladder, bypassing Geralt’s brain entirely and lulling him into an entirely false sense of comfort. Jaskier’s mouth, he had to remind himself _firmly and repeatedly_ , was not a toilet.

 _Not a toilet,_ he told himself, shifting in his seat.

 _Not a toilet,_ he reminded himself again, his bladder heavy, his thighs trembling as he tried to hold it. He could feel an unflattering flush rising to his cheeks, matching the incessant flexing of his feet as he tried to sit still. Beneath the table, he could sense Jaskier’s confusion in the way his mouth relaxed and his fingers tightened on Geralt’s thigh, tapping out a question in code.

 _You OK?_ he asked.

 _Need to piss,_ Geralt tapped back.

There was an agonizing pause before Jaskier finally sketched out a laughing face on Geralt’s thigh. 

_Goddammit, Jaskier,_ Geralt thought, grinding his teeth so hard he thought his jaw might snap. _This isn’t funny._

Discomfort throbbed through him, pressure mounting in his bladder by the second. He tensed his thighs by increments, relaxing and tensing, relaxing and tensing — it was all he could do, since he couldn’t relieve the pressure by shifting. Not with Jaskier’s wet lips around his cock. 

_Just go,_ Jaskier said, tapping out the words on Geralt’s thigh. _I don’t mind. I bet it gives me magic powers._

 _Not the time for jokes,_ Geralt tapped back, sweating a little. He caught himself glaring at a terrified-looking knight across the way and forced himself to turn his eyes elsewhere, focusing on a faded wall tapestry instead. 

_I bet it does, though,_ Jaskier said. _There must be rules against drinking a Witcher’s—_

And then, to Geralt’s intense mortification, a short stream of urine escaped him. He lurched forward, inadvertently thrusting into Jaskier’s mouth, and just barely managed to cut the stream off. He swore under his breath, hiding the noise by taking a quick — and entirely fake — drink of wine. None of the other party guests seemed to notice.

 _Oh, you were serious,_ Jaskier tapped out.

 _You swallowed,_ Geralt tapped back, hoping the coded words somehow expressed how scandalized he was. He squirmed in his seat, the pressure in his bladder almost unbearable now that he’d let a little out. Jaskier’s tongue swept over the head of his cock, then flattened back out along the length of him.

So warm.

So wet.

He could feel his pelvic muscles loosening, his self-control swiftly eroding away. Taking quick, shallow breaths, he leaned back in his seat, trying to take some of the pressure of his bladder. This brought him a little bit farther from Jaskier’s mouth, and he felt Jaskier’s lips slip a little, leaving an inch of Geralt’s cock bare at the base — bare and wet and especially cold now that it was exposed to the air.

Another burst of piss escaped him, this time with enough force that he was sure it must have struck the back of Jaskier’s throat. He bit back a moan — well, maybe it was more of a whimper — and tapped out a quick, _I have to—_

And then Jaskier’s other hand came up, found Geralt’s lower abdomen, and pushed down on his bladder.

Hard.

And Geralt lost all control. 

There he was, sitting at a queen’s banquet table, his face frozen and his lips numb as he tried to look casual. And the whole time, like it or not, he was pissing into the mouth of the most obnoxious bard he’d ever met. And not pissing softly, not pissing gently, no — pissing five cups’ worth of wine with all his might, right into Jaskier’s throat.

And Jaskier, goddamn him, was swallowing every bit of it as easily as he swallowed…

...Well, wine.

Geralt sat up, trying not to reveal how badly his abdominal muscles were trembling as he emptied his bladder. He could actually hear the urine hissing out of him, a fact that made the blood rush to his face even if he was sure nobody else could hear it. The relief of letting go — of finally pissing after a full hour with Jaskier’s teasing mouth on his cock — was almost impossible to hide.

Eventually, Jaskier lifted his hand away from Geralt’s bladder, using it instead to rub comforting circles on his inner thigh. Geralt’s posture sagged, the stream of piss lightening now. It faded, gradually, to nothing more than a dribble and a few stray spurts of urine, all of which Jaskier swallowed. His tongue lapped up against Geralt’s slit, picking up the last few drops of moisture and then settling down again.

Geralt closed his eyes.

“Are you finished?” the knight next to him whispered. “Can I have him next?”

Geralt’s eyes snapped open again.


End file.
